Part 1Zero Stars Left For Daddy

The day my father brought Candice and her daughter into our home, he taped a reward chart to the front of the refrigerator.

He told me that if I collected one hundred red star stamps, he would grant me any wish in the world.

For the sake of that promise, I swallowed every piece of unfairness. Even when he took only Courtney to the theme park, I never threw a tantrum. I stayed behind, folded the laundry, scrubbed the counters, and waited patiently for him to return and press another ink stamp into an empty square.

Yesterday, the chart finally held ninety-nine stars.

And yesterday night, my mother’s heart gave out.

The amber prescription bottles in the bathroom were empty. No matter how hard I shook her, no matter how loudly I screamed into her chest, she wouldn't wake up.

Clutching that wrinkled chart in my trembling fist, I dialed my father’s cell phone on my smartwatch.

"Daddy... can I borrow my last star early? I want to trade it for you to come home. Please. Come save Mom."

Over the line, Courtney began to whimper in the background.

My father muffled the receiver, his voice tight with impatience.

"Hazel, you’re turning just like your mother. One lie, and every single star on that chart gets wiped clean. I’m spending today at Candice’s family home. I don't care how dramatic your mother acts, or how convincingly she plays dead—I am not coming back."

The call cut off.

I hit redial again and again, but all that answered was the flat, mechanical drone of an empty line.

Beside me on the sofa, Mom had stopped breathing entirely.

I searched the drawers, found a red ballpoint pen, and drew a lopsided, crooked little flower in the very last box on the paper.

Even with a hundred stars...

Daddy was never going to grant my wish.

* * *

"Sweetheart, an adult has to sign the pronouncement of death. Where are the grown-ups in your family?"

The ER physician pushed the thin sheet of paper across the cold stainless steel triage counter toward me.

I stood on my tiptoes, resting both forearms against the chilled metal.

"There aren't any other adults in my house, Doctor," I said. "My daddy went away to be someone else's dad."

The doctor froze. A flash of bewilderment crossed his face, instantly swallowed by a wave of raw pity. He exhaled a long, heavy breath and slipped the form back into his clipboard.

"In that case, we have to transfer the body to the morgue for cold storage. You need to contact Child Services or your local police precinct to step in. Otherwise, the crematory won't be able to process the release."

I nodded, keeping my hands neatly at my sides. "Thank you, sir."

When I stepped out through the automated sliding doors of the hospital, dawn had not yet broken. The streetlamps cast my small shadow across the damp asphalt, stretching it thin and solitary.

Back at the apartment, the living room remained frozen in last night’s catastrophe. When the seizure took Mom, she had knocked over the glass coffee table, shattering her water glass into a thousand glittering shards.

I found the broom and dustpan. Methodically, piece by piece, I swept the glass away. Then I brought out the mop and wiped down the puddle, erasing every smear and scuff left behind by her final, desperate struggle.

I couldn't let anyone see her stripped of her dignity.

Especially not Simon Archer.

Just as I finished wringing out the mop, the front door lock chimed.

The deadbolt turned.

Simon strode inside, carrying several glossy luxury shopping bags. Behind him trailed Courtney in a brand-new ruffled dress, her hand clasped securely in Candice's.

Simon glanced toward the dark, empty kitchen, his brows knitting into an immediate scowl.

"Where is Marian?" He dropped the bags carelessly onto the entryway console. "Throwing another fit at the crack of dawn? The place is freezing, and there isn't even hot water on the stove."

I stood by the edge of the sofa, watching him in silence. "Mom isn't home."

Simon let out a mocking sneer, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it onto an armchair. "She staged that pathetic little midnight drama with you, couldn't trick me into rushing back, and now that she realizes her bluff was called, she’s pulling the runaway wife routine?"

Candice placed a gentle, conciliatory hand on Simon’s sleeve. "Simon, please don't be hard on Marian. She’s only upset because you spent the weekend with my parents. Maybe Courtney and I should pack our things and leave. Our being here only provokes her."

Simon caught Candice’s wrist, his grip firm. "You're not going anywhere. This is your home now, too. If Marian wants to throw a tantrum, she can stay out there until she comes to her senses."

Courtney let go of her mother’s hand and skipped over to the coffee table. With practiced familiarity, she pulled open the middle drawer and hauled out a box of imported Swiss chocolates. Mom had waited in line for two hours in the cold three days ago just to buy them for me.

"Hey, Hazel," Courtney said, peeling back the gold foil and popping a chocolate into her mouth. "Did your mommy abandon you? Don't worry. My mommy is really sweet. She can be your mommy from now on."

I walked over, reached out, and pulled the box out of her hands.

"She is not my mom."

Courtney’s lower lip quivered instantly, her eyes brimming with theatrical tears. "Uncle Simon! Hazel is being so mean! She won't even share one piece of candy with me!"

Simon marched over, ripped the chocolate box straight out of my hands, and shoved it back into Courtney's chest.

"Hazel Archer! Is this the garbage your mother teaches you? Courtney is your sister. You're going to pick a fight over a piece of candy?"

I looked down at my empty palms. I didn't say a word.

Seeing my silence, Simon assumed I was backing down like I always did. The edge in his voice softened slightly, and he picked up a decorative pastry box from the hall table.

"Alright, drop the sour face," he muttered. "You wanted your reward yesterday, didn't you? It's your birthday today anyway. Consider this your prize."

He set the bakery box on the dining table.

Courtney hurried over, peering greedily through the clear plastic window. "Wow! It's that fancy strawberry shortcake from the French bakery! Strawberries are my absolute favorite!"

Candice offered a soft, rehearsed reprimand. "Courtney, that's Hazel's birthday cake. You can't just take it."

Simon didn't hesitate; he tugged the satin ribbon loose. "It's just a cake. If Courtney wants some, cut her a slice." He looked at me. "Hazel, you're the hostess here. Cut a piece for your sister. Did you hear me?"

I stared through the plastic at the delicate white frosting.

Piped in red gel across the top were the words: "Wishing Courtney Endless Joy."

He hadn't even bothered to get the name right.

"I don't want any," I said quietly, turning toward the hallway leading to my bedroom. "You bought it for her. Don't bother cutting me a piece."

Behind me, Simon's temper flared anew. "Hazel! That petty, bitter attitude of yours is the spitting image of your mother! You tell her this when she calls: if she thinks vanishing is going to hold me hostage, she has another thing coming!"

My fingers wrapped around my bedroom doorknob. I paused and looked back at him over my shoulder.

"She didn't vanish."

My voice was flat, hollow.

"She left. And she is never coming back."